Chapter XXVIII

The tramp was not working that afternoon. He was recovering from a three days’ vacation he had taken in the city following the weekly pay day. He sat in the door a long time looking down toward the village and hating the world. He always took it out in hating the world when he was out of condition. He had a settled conviction that the world owed him a living.

He looked as usual toward the Silver house with jealous eyes and began to calculate as he had often done before, how many millions they must have and what he could do if he had only a small portion of their wealth. And as before he began to work at a plan that had for a long time been maturing in his brain. He had worked it out link by link till he had all the details perfect up to a certain point. There he always had to stop. He never could quite get beyond that missing link. He always thought if he could just think a little harder it would come to him, that missing link, but as yet it had not come.

And now he felt sick and sore from the three days’ debauch and the fire was out and there wasn’t a bit of food in his lair, neither was there wood to cook any food if he had any.

He stirred his stiffened limbs and got himself to his feet shivering from sheer revolt against life. He knew that the afternoon was waning and that he must go soon to get wood or there would be no way to get supper, and supper he must have if he was to go to work in the morning. And to work he must go if he were to live longer, because his last cent was spent and bacon cost money. They were not trusting tramps for bacon and tea in Silver Sands.

So down the mountain he trudged, gathering wood slowly in little heaps by the way to be gathered up on his return trip. He must go trim that hedge of Truman’s and that would bring him enough for sugar and butter and all that he needed that night. Then on his return he would gather up the wood and have a little comfort out of life. Strange that with such a life he could still gather comfort from it. And Athalie Greeves in the fine Silver house wept because there was nothing left for her in life!

It was ten minutes to five when he returned with his sugar and bacon and cheese. He hadn’t cut the hedge very well, but Mrs. Truman had been having a missionary meeting and hadn’t come out to see. She had sent the money out to him before he had quite finished and he lost no time in getting down to the store. His inner man required immediate refreshment.

So he sat down in a sheltered spot not far from the road to eat a snack to stay him before he should gather up his wood. And suddenly his slow jaws lagged and moved slower, and his little eyes peered cunningly between the bushes, and his ears pricked up and listened, for down the road in the distance he saw the missing link in the well forged chain of his plans, approaching, and with eager caution and much peering he stowed away his bundles under the leaves and moved down to a more convenient station nearer the road where he could watch and be ready for the right moment.

* * * * *

Silver had risen from her knees with a face in which sorrow and purpose were having their way. She went straight to her desk and drawing pen and paper toward her began to write rapidly.

“Dear Athalie:—

“I have been praying ever since I came that you and I might
learn to love one another and be real sisters. I have always
wanted a sister. But I see that I was mistaken and that cannot
be. So I am going away at once to show you that I really wanted
to love you. I haven’t wanted to hurt you in any way, nor to
steal father or anybody or anything away from you. You said a
good many things in your excitement that hurt me, but perhaps
you won’t remember them when you get calmer. I want you to know
that I forgive you, and want you to be happy. As you say, I have
had a happy home and you haven’t. Besides I am the older and
ought to go if one of us must, so it is all right. Only if I go,
Athalie, please make father happy. He is lonely too. And I shall
always pray that God will give you joy.

Sincerely, Silver.”

She folded it and wrote “Athalie” across the back then drew more paper toward her and began again. This one was harder to write. It began:

“Dear Father:—

“Something has happened since you went to the city this morning
that has made me know that it is not right for me to stay with
you any longer. Not now, anyway. You know how sorry I am about
it, but I feel this is the only thing to do, so I am going to do
it quickly before you return. That will be easier for us both. I
have not time to tell you all it has meant to be with you, to
know I have a father, and to be sure I have your love. I shall
be rich in that knowledge always now wherever I am, but I feel
that Athalie needs you more than I do, and that you never can be
everything to each other while I stay. You will see it this way
too after a little and know that I did right. Perhaps some day
it will be right for me to come back, and then I shall return
with joy. Now I am going away and I am not going to tell you
where just yet for I am not quite sure of my plans, but as soon
as I am located I will send for my trunk which I will leave
packed and ready, and then perhaps you will write and tell me
you forgive me for going away without seeing you. I just felt
that I could not quite bear the good-bye, precious father! I
love you. Don’t feel bad. Love Athalie.

Silver-Alice.”

Silver paused a moment to wipe away the tears that would gather in her eyes as she wrote the words that meant so much to her, then she began another note.

“My dear Mr. Bannard:—

“I am writing in great haste and dismay to let you know that I
cannot fulfill my promise to go with you to the orchestra
concert in the city tomorrow because I find that I must suddenly
go away. It is a deep disappointment to me for I had looked
forward to the pleasure eagerly. I cannot tell you what pleasure
I have found in our work among the little children on the Flats,
nor how disappointed I am that I shall not be able to carry out
our plans for this winter. I am not sure how long I shall have
to stay. It may be quite a while. It is hard for me to have to
go, and to go thus suddenly without bidding my new friends
good-bye, but I know I am right in going at once.

I thank you for what your friendship and your sermons have meant
to me while I was here, and I hope that some day I may have the
pleasure of seeing you again.

Very Sincerely, Silver Greeves.”

This letter she sealed, addressed and stamped and put in her pocket. Then she arose and quickly folded her garments from the closet, laying them in her trunk, opened drawers and boxes and stowed everything away with expedition. There was not very much for she had not brought a great deal when she came. In her little suitcase she put the few things of immediate necessity, locking her trunk, put on her hat, and a long silk wrap over her simple dark china-silk frock and taking her suitcase slipped across the hall with her letters. Her father’s she laid on his chiffonier where he would be sure to see it as soon as he came in, and Athalie’s she slipped softly under her door. It was all still in the hall when she went down. She longed to speak to Anne and Molly before she left but knew she might upset all her plans if she did, so she went swiftly out the door.

“Well, now, where’s she going?” announced grandma from her window, “a suitcase in her hand too! And this time of day!”

“Maybe she’s taking her suit down to the cleaners,” suggested Pristina.

“They would send for it if she phoned,” said Harriet.

“Well, she’s pretty independent. She doesn’t take any rich folks airs on herself,” said Cornelia. “I wonder why they never go together. They’re not so far apart in age.”

When Silver reached the station she found that the next train to the city did not stop at Silver Sands, being an express, its only stop was at the Junction two miles below.

Looking at her watch she found that there was plenty of time to walk it. She knew the way well for she had driven there several times with Mr. Bannard. She mailed her letter to Bannard at the station and took the back street for several blocks to avoid the centre of the town as she did not care to be noticed in this sudden flight.

When she came to the last cross street she turned into the main road again and crossed the bridge. She hoped with all her heart that Bannard would not happen to be out in his car and come across her. She felt she could not bear that. But if he did she would just have to tell him how things were. She somehow felt sure she could make him understand.

But nobody came along to disturb the afternoon peace. The white road stretched like a ribbon ahead under arching trees, the crickets sang under the browning golden rod, a cicada grated out his raucous voice, the wild asters, white and pink and blue and yellow nodded in the soft breeze with their first opening clusters of stars, and yellow butterflies whirled dreamily, lighting in the dusty grass by the roadside. It was beautiful and still. It looked so dear. She could not believe she was going away from it all, out into the world alone. Her soul cried out to return, to destroy her notes and unlock her trunk and try to make some other finish to this day that had begun so gorgeously and was ending so sorrowfully. But something drove her feet forward in the way, and she passed on around the curve of the road till Silver Sands and the way to the Flats were out of sight and the tears were blinding her eyes so that she could not see ahead.

“Good-bye, dear home!” she whispered softly to herself. And then just ahead of her, an old man hurried hobbling into the road and waved his hand.

“Oh, lady, lady! I’m so glad you come by. There’s a little child up there in that shanty dying I’m feered. It fell over the rocks an’ broke its leg, an’ done somepin to its insides I guess, an’ I’m runnin’ to get the doctor. Won’t you just go up there lady and stay with the baby till I git back? I sha’n’t be five minutes. I just cantta bear to leave it all alone.”

Silver looked at her watch and glanced up the hill. There was plenty of time if the man hurried, even if it took him ten minutes, for the train did not leave the Junction till ten minutes of five and it was just as well that she should not get there till train time, lest someone might see her.

“Yes,” she said, “but hurry! I must make my train.” Then she turned and began swiftly to climb the hill while the old man began to run stiffly down the road.

The hill was steeper than she thought and the suitcase heavy but she managed to reach the little hovel in very good time, and stepping inside, rubbed her eyes to get the sunshine out for the room seemed very dark. She put down her suitcase and began groping across to find the child, pausing a moment to get used to the dark, when suddenly she felt the door shut behind her with a slam and something like a key turning in a lock.

In horror she rushed back, almost falling over her suitcase, and groped for the knob, but there was none. The door was fast, and when she pounded on it there were only hollow reverberations. It was so still in the little place that it did not seem possible that there could be anyone else in the room, even a dying child. Perhaps it was dead already. She felt so alone. Her heart was beating wildly. She tried to tell herself that of course the door had blown shut and a night latch had fastened it, but a night latch usually opened from the inside. It must be she would be able to find a knob when she grew calmer and could see better. She groped back to the door and tried once more, but with no better success. The door seemed smooth all over and fitted close. There was no crack for light to come in. Was that a step outside? No, she must have been mistaken. And yet—how strange! She had seen the man run down the road! But the child! She ought to be attending to it! Could it be that she had got into the wrong place? Were there two buildings on the hill? Should she cry out for assistance? It was not far from the road. Someone would be passing soon. Surely there was no need for her to be frightened. The old man would soon return with the doctor and then she would be set free.

She remembered her little pocket flash that she always carried in her handbag. She tried to find it and at last located it and touched the spring. The ray of light revealed the bare stone walls, the rude box, and huddled leaves, the empty fireplace, the frying pan, and cup, and a crust of dry bread. There was no child anywhere.

She examined the window carefully and found it firmly sealed. There seemed to be no implement with which she might attempt to break it open. She swept the room with the light and saw no possible way to get out. Her heart was fluttering so that her breath was labored.

“Help me, O Christ! Steady me! Show me a way to get out of here before it is too late!” she prayed. Then she advanced to the fireplace and turned the flash upward. The rough sooty stones loomed above her in irregular knobs, jogging out here and there, and above them, in the brilliancy of the speck of light, a branch of a tree, thick with leaves, waved backward and forward.

“There is always a way up,” came the words in memory from some famous story or sermon, she could not tell which, but it thrilled her soul. It was not far to the branch. Could she make it, up the slippery, cobbled way? Was the space big enough? Could she get her suitcase out too? She measured the distance with her eye, noted the stones that stuck out. Would they bear her? But how could she climb with a suitcase? Yet she must have it if possible. There was a bolt of blue ribbon in her suitcase, a whole ten yards. Was it strong enough to hold the suitcase if she tied the other end around her waist and then pulled it up after her? And supposing she made the top of the chimney, could she climb down without breaking her neck? Well, it would be better there out in God’s open than shut in this dark place where no one could see her or hear her and perhaps she could climb the tree. As for the suitcase she would do her best and then let it go if she had to. But she must get out of here before that man returned if he was the instigator of some intention against her. If it was only some mistake of a dead-latch she must find the child. It even now might be crying with fear. She must work fast in any case.

She hurried back to her suitcase, searched out the ribbon, tied one end firmly to the handle, the other round her waist. Put her purse inside the neck of her dress, turned her wrap inside out and tied it firmly over her head and shoulders to protect hat and dress as much as possible, and flash in hand began her perilous climb. It was a narrow place to squeeze through. She put her suitcase up a couple of feet and rested it on a ledge, supporting it with one hand as she climbed, setting a foot here on a projecting stone, putting a hand there in a crevice where the crumbling plaster gave way before her touch. Slowly, painfully, stopping for breath, cautious because one wrong move might undo all, she crept on. Once she missed her footing and the stone rolled down leaving her with only one foot on a loose stone, and once the suitcase slipped off suddenly jerking the ribbon around her waist and almost bringing her down with it, but she caught herself in time, and clinging to the wall prayed, “help me! Help me! O Christ, give me strength! Give me steadiness!”

It was like those dreams that come sometimes, where we find ourselves crawling through an endless tunnel that grows smaller and smaller, and finally our strength gives out, we collapse and are stuck fast. Two or three times she thought she could not go on, and closed her eyes to rest. She could not look up because the dust and soot filled her eyes, so on and on she crept, coming to one place so small she could just get her head through, and was sure she could not go further, but finally managed to wriggle through, with the dead weight of the suitcase dangling after, hitting against the wall and bumping, impeding her upward way. Perhaps after all she would have to cut the ribbon and let it drop.

“Help! Help! O Christ—” and the blessed breath of air struck her face, and light. Real sunlight blinded her eyes. She was out! She caught a firmer hold, and just then the little flash light slipped away! She caught at it and almost lost her own hold, but could not get it. She heard it knock its way to the bottom of the hearth. Well, what matter! She would not need it now. Then she pulled herself free from the encasing wall and was out, head and shoulders above the little hut.

She paused to rest and look about. No, there was no sign of any other building. No sound of crying child. What did it mean? Down below she could see the road and there was no pedestrian on it. An automobile swept by going very fast, but it was not the doctor’s car. Fear clutched her by the throat. She must get away at once.

She writhed herself up out of the chimney. It proved to be a mere knob above the low sloping roof. She had a struggle with her suitcase and almost gave it up once, but finally brought it forth, crushed at one side and badly scratched, but still intact, and then it was a comparatively easy thing to slide cautiously down the roof and drop carefully to the ground.

She was free! But she was trembling so that for a moment she could not move. Her hands and face were scratched and sooty, and her arms were bruised and sore. She looked up at the blue sky and her heart said quickly in a burst of joy, “Oh, thank you Christ!”

Then new strength seemed to come, and breath, and she flew away down the hill on the side where the undergrowth was comparatively light, got into the highway, and the sunshine, and saw that she was not pursued, gradually grew steadier, and began to straighten her garments, wipe off the soot and give more thanks to God. There was a long strip torn out of her crêpe de chine dress from hem to waist, an inch or two wide and left somewhere behind in that chimney, but what did that matter? She was free. Her shoes were scratched and dusty and not fit for a lady to take a journey anywhere in, but that was a small matter. One glove was split from wrist to finger and the other entirely gone, but what were gloves in a lifetime! She was on the road, some road. It did not look familiar and perhaps coming down this side of the hill she had missed her way, but there would be a train sometime, somewhere, and she would find it. God had set her free, and now she knew she had done right in coming away. God had helped her on and not let her be hindered to make a lot of trouble for everybody. She would be able to get to her destination and write back in due time to set her father’s mind at rest. Then all would be well.

Half an hour’s walk brought her to a small hamlet, but it was not the Junction. She had missed her way and missed her train, but they told her that a trolley line passed half a mile below and the cars ran every half hour. They would take her to her destination in less than two hours, and what did it matter? She lifted up her tired head, and went forward.